


To Be Expected

by shadoedseptmbr



Series: Tales from the Shelterverse [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 08:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadoedseptmbr/pseuds/shadoedseptmbr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The Old stories simply don't have endings", she'd told him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Expected

**Author's Note:**

> There's no need to have read Shelter, for this one, at least.

"The Old stories simply don't have endings" she'd told him. It needn't be an ending, just a pause. And if he was king...if he was king he could do things, maybe make things better. 

 

For a while. 

 

And it wouldn't be forever. His years would run short. And he'd never been grateful for that, before.

 

And to be a king, a proper king for Ferelden, he needed a queen. So he said yes six months later when Eamon said now, about a queen. And he'd said no black hair, no green eyes. Anyone else.

 

He asked them. "Have you ever been in love?" Because it wasn't in him to be too dishonest. And sometimes they blushed and stammered. Sometimes they simpered and said maybe you. One had looked through him with piercing grey eyes and said no. And he thought about her and the chestnut curl that dropped across her shoulder.

 

And one, one glanced down at the delicate ring he wore on the smallest finger of his shield hand and said yes.

 

She had dark blonde hair with coppery streaks and gentle brown eyes, she was tall and she looked sad. Her father was standing too observant and she looked afraid. And Alistair took her hand and said would you care to walk with me a while.

 

Her lover had died defending the Southern Hills. Her father had hated the bastard son of his seneschal, but they had planned to run away. And then it was too late. 

He liked the freckles across her nose. He startled a laugh out of her. It was enough to be going on with. 

He announced the wedding the next day and banished her father the day after. 

It was occasionally good to be the king. 

He held her hand in the rebuilt Chantry and promised to cherish and protect her. To bestow upon her everything in his possession. And he did that because he had sat beside her in a rose garden under a tree that had been planted in the spring and explained to her that he was not in possession of his heart, but that he hoped to be her friend and hoped to give her a child. And she had smiled and patted his hand and said that was more than she'd expected, really. 

In the fifth year of their marriage, he was her friend and she his. 

He even found a part of his heart for her, because it wasn't in him to not love a good and gentle woman with a quick mind and a hearty laugh. He gave her everything but roses. Or a child. 

And in that fifth year she asked him if she could stray from his bed. She would get him an heir, if he needed one. And she had met someone. 

And he was her friend. And he couldn't pretend he had been faithful. So he said of course. 

In the seventh year there was still no heir. And she offered to step aside for a younger woman. There's no reason, he said. Unless, of course....and she patted his hand and said no, that was too much to expect. 

He was forgetful one night. That she was fragile, that he should hold back. She minded less than he thought she might.

He told her he thought he might take a journey. Would she care to come? 

No. But she would be there waiting for his return. 

So he went to Cumberland and Tantervale and Kirkwall and back again. And felt refreshed and dismayed by what he found there. With a new appreciation for good Starkhaven whiskey and some hope for a new ally. 

And she was a bit plumper than when he'd last seen her, curled on her side in his bed, to be honest. 

Her gentle eyes sparkled and she said she had a surprise for him. And he was, truth be told, quite surprised, indeed. To be told what she was expecting.

He drank a bottle of that good whiskey later, after he'd tucked her into bed. He had learned something of women in the last seven years and did not ask if it was his. And he walked down to the rose garden and sat under a tree and wept. 

He wasn't sure why, exactly. It wasn’t in him to not want a child. 

Just that old stories didn't have endings. That it wouldn't be forever. His years were running short. And he was still grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> _I don't know if I will write more of these. But this is the first of a set of character sketches from the Shelter-verse._


End file.
